


The Curious Effects Of Ambrosia

by leiascully



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: fluff_friday, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-09
Updated: 2009-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix Gaeta didn't often drink with the pilots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Effects Of Ambrosia

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: pre-series (spoilers for 2.07 "Final Cut")  
> A/N: So in my mind, Gaeta totally has a little crush on Starbuck, but who doesn't, am I right? Happy [**fluff_friday**](http://community.livejournal.com/fluff_friday/)! Here's Gaeta getting his tattoo, because I love him and he doesn't get enough attention.   
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

Felix Gaeta didn't often drink with the pilots. Felix Gaeta was close remembering that there was a reason for that, except that things were kind of blurry around the edges at this point and whatever he was reaching for kept slipping away. Some things were clear though. Very clear. Starbuck's tattoo was definitely in focus, dark ink against her pale skin as she rested her arms on the table.

"Bona fiscalia," he read slowly. "What does that mean?"

Starbuck took a pull off her bottle. "Anyone ever told you that curiosity killed the cat, Felix?"

"No, no, no," he insisted. "I want to know what it says."

"It says, 'bona fiscalia'," she said, rolling her eyes at Racetrack and Helo and Boomer and Jolly and Flat Top and Ripper. Frak, why didn't he have a cool nickname? He had to get out of CIC. This was where the party was. He couldn't understand why Racetrack was snickering. Maybe someone had told a joke and he'd missed it. Starbuck was peering at him.

"You're very literal, aren't you," he said, gesturing with his own bottle.

"Well," she said, "I'm sure as hell not literary."

Racetrack and Ripper laughed and Kara grinned.

"I just wanna know what it means," Gaeta said. Gods, the room hadn't been this fuzzy when he came in.

"You don't get to ask about somebody else's tattoo unless you've got one of your own to explain," Starbuck said dismissively, taking another drink. Jolly nodded.

"Okay," Gaeta said.

"Okay what?" Helo asked in a good-humored way, dealing another hand of Triad.

"Okay," Gaeta said, putting down his bottle and flattening his hands on the table. "I'll get a tattoo."

"Aww, you're frakkin' kidding me," Racetrack drawled. "Who invited the geek anyway?"

"Get back to your math, boyo," Ripper sneered. "I don't think you want to play with us. Ante up, everybody."

Cubits clinked in the middle of the table. Starbuck picked up a cigar and nipped off the end. Helo lit it for her off the end of his and handed it back. She stuck it in her mouth, sitting back in her chair, staring at Gaeta until he felt himself blushing.

"All right," she said after a minute.

"All right what, Starbuck," Ripper said amiably. "Are you ever gonna bet?"

"All right, let's go get this tattoo." Starbuck slapped her cards down on the table.

"Now _you're_ frakkin' kidding me," Racetrack said. "Abandoning us, Starbuck? For him?"

"The first time is special," Starbuck said lasciviously, biting her lip, her eyes still on Gaeta's. "You serious about this, Felix?"

He took a deep breath. The room spun a little, but Starbuck seemed steady enough. "Yeah. Let's do this."

Starbuck jerked her chin up in affirmation and smirked. "Helo. Hand me that bottle."

Helo grinned and passed it over. All Gaeta could see was Starbuck's eyes, like he was hypnotized, as she poured out a measure of green liquid into a glass. She pushed it across the table. The pot rattled as the glass knocked against the cubits.

"What's this?" Gaeta picked it up and took a whiff. "Ambrosia? Where the frak did you get this? There's no still on Galactica that could produce this."

"Home brew," Helo said. "Brought it with me. Drink up."

"Liquid courage," Starbuck said. "You're gonna need it."

Gaeta threw the shot back; it burned all the way down and he shivered.

"You good?" Starbuck asked, and he nodded. She pushed herself up from the table. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Gaeta said, standing. He wobbled a little and Helo put out a hand and steadied him.

"I know a guy," Starbuck reassured him.

"You know what?" Helo said. "I want to see this."

"Everyone's invited!" Starbuck said, spreading her arms. "Bring the ambrosia. I get the feeling we're gonna need it."

Gaeta didn't really remember making his way through the ship. Starbuck and Helo were chatting, with Racetrack and Flat Top throwing in snarky comments. Next thing Gaeta knew, he was laying in a chair, bare-chested.

"What am I doing?" said a burly guy. Gaeta didn't know him; he though the guy was one of the knuckle-draggers. Whoever he was, he had a buzzing needle and a pot of ink.

"I want a tiger," Gaeta said. His voice sounded muzzy. He cleared his throat. "I want a tiger."

"Okay, champ, we heard you," Starbuck said. She was sitting next to him, one eyebrow raised.

"Just...making sure," Gaeta said. He traced a circle on his chest. "Right here. A tiger. Stylish."

"Stylized?" the guy with the needle grunted.

Gaeta pointed enthusiastically at the guy. "That one."

"Coming right up," said the guy. Gaeta wasn't sure whether the way the guy bared his teeth was supposed to be a smile, but it was kind of reassuring anyway. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Gaeta said.

"Wait," said Starbuck, and put the bottle between his lips. "Take a swig. You're gonna need it."

"'M fine," Gaeta said around the glass against his teeth, trying not to dribble. "'M tough."

"Whatever you say," Starbuck said, taking the bottle away. Helo, lounging in the corner, crossed his arms and nudged Racetrack.

"Here we go," the guy said, approaching. He put a hand on Gaeta's shoulder; it felt like eight Gs pressing him back into the chair. The needle touched Gaeta's skin and he gargled, something between a yelp and a groan. Starbuck took his hand and held it hard.

"You're doin' great," she said soothingly. "Just squeeze my hand, Felix."

"Aghhhhlg," he said.

"More ambrosia," said Helo.

"More somethin'," Racetrack muttered. Starbuck glared at her and put the bottle between Gaeta's lips again. He swallowed compulsively until the burn from the booze in his throat overwhelmed the burn of the needle on his chest.

"You okay?" Starbuck asked.

He blinked. The room spun. He felt good. He felt really frakkin' good. And badass. He should start calling himself Tiger.

"You're gonna tell me what yours means, right?" he asked Starbuck around the large man looming over him, still holding him down. "'Bona fiscalia'? 'Cause I've got one of my own now, or I'm gonna have one."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "It means 'public property'."

"Ah, because you get around." Felix nodded sagely. At least, he intended to. He wasn't sure if he was moving his head or if the room was nodding around him. Either way, it worked out. Except that Starbuck was giving him a look he wasn't sure he liked, and the pressure of her hand on his hand was squeezing his bones together. He squeezed back to even out the pressure.

"For a couple of reasons," she said fiercely. "Tattoos are personal. I mean, you and your frakkin' tiger, right? It means something to you."

"'S what I'm not," he said. "Not bold. Not stealthy. Not wild. Not a hero. Not a pilot. Not even the kind of guy who drinks with pilots."

"Well," Kara said, and the way she squeezed her hand was comforting this time, "tonight, Felix Gaeta, you are."


End file.
